


Backwash

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Episode Related, First Times, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:17:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a long road home, and Blair's got issues. Sentinel Too Part 2, post episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backwash

## Backwash

by Wistful

Author's website:  <http://www28.brinkster.com/wistfulworld/index.html>

The characters are not mine.

Thanks to Rhi, who helped so much with this story. Any errors are purely my poor revision skills, and can't be blamed on her.   


Post Sentinel Too Part 2. I know, I know, post SenToo's are their own subgenre of TS fic, but I had to do one too.   
Feedback is something I hunger for, so feed my greed.

* * *

There were certain times in one's life when it became clear that yes, they ('they' being the Men In Black, secret government operatives, Simon, and that really old looking sandwich he'd eaten from the rinky-dink restaurant inside the airport) really were out to get you. They couldn't get a flight out yet. Not for a couple more hours, at the very least. 

Blair Sandburg groaned miserably when Simon came back and relayed the bad news, looking none too happy himself. Dirty and tired and only recently back from the dead, Blair could think of nothing better than passing out until the next millennium arrived. Instead, he was stuck in an airport where the security guards stared at him with distrust, Jim's elbow kept catching his funny bone, and Megan seemed righteously pissed at them both. Not to mention the smell. He couldn't discount the stench of... what _was_ that? Sweaty sheep? 

Blair took a discreet sniff of himself, unable to conceal his wince when he discovered the source of the bad odor. God, what must Jim be thinking about him right now? Blair shifted another inch away from his partner, hoping that this odor would be the one smell the Sentinel didn't pick up on. Between the dying and the traveling to Mexico, there hadn't been much time for a shower. Well, there had been that sponge bath in the hospital, but he'd been way too conked to enjoy it. Plus, as far as he could remember, the woman giving him the sponge bath had actually been a man, with a big hairy mole in the disadvantageous place of dead center between his eyebrows. 

"It's not so bad, Chief," Jim said tiredly next to him, and Blair panicked until he realized Jim wasn't talking about the odor. "Think of it as an unplanned vacation." 

Blair snorted. "Yeah. In hell." 

Jim's lips tightened in response. He looked ragged and thready around the edges, white strain dusted across his mouth. He _looked_ like he'd tried taking a few rounds out of a punching bag, but the punching bag had won. Alex had sure done a number on him. She'd ran Jim through the emotional wringer, then dragged him ass-backwards to do it all over again. Exhaustion and disappointment were written all over Jim, scribbled in the wrinkles around his eyes. And he was paler than normal, a pasty color of gray that made him seem old. 

Still, behind Jim's eyes, when Blair dared look into them, rested a confused determination that was only looking for direction. Like, somehow, everything had been worth it, and now they just had to figure out what they were going to do next. 

Blair fought the urge to point out to Jim that while he was weighing pros and cons of what they'd been through in that big old head of his, maybe he should toss Blair's death up onto that scale. It'd be interesting to see just how much weight that actually carried, how his death measured up against Psycho Barbie Sentinel's all expenses paid trip to a padded cell. Because, you know, Jim just didn't seem too insanely pleased to have him back. Not like Blair expected a marching band, but like, maybe, confetti or something? Anything? 

'Shit, Blair,' he thought to himself. 'Way to be ungrateful. That son of a bitch you're busy cursing saved your sorry ass.' 

"Well, not Hell," Jim said eventually, obviously _trying_. "Maybe Purgatory." 

Blair stared at the toes of his shoes, scuffing them against the aged and cracked floor, refusing to be drawn out to play. His lack of response seemed too loud, too petty, and his eyes were about to burn out of his head from staring at the black marks his shoes left behind on the floor. 

"You look like your dog ate your birthday cake, Sandy," Megan said from behind him, in a kinder voice than the one she'd been using for the past several hours. When they'd gotten here, she'd waited for them to take seats, and then deliberately chosen a chair where she'd have her back to them. Apparently, she'd finally talked herself into a conciliatory mood. "A few more hours here or there won't hurt." 

Blair shrugged -- rather petulantly, he had to admit -- then muttered, "I'm just ready to not be here." 

Megan shifted behind him, put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing companionably. "You should power sleep. We're stuck good and proper, and you aren't looking so pretty there." 

"Well thanks, Megan. But I must say, you're looking _lovely_." 

Megan gave him a final squeeze, less gently than she could have, and turned back to whatever magazine she'd been flipping through. Blair felt Jim's gaze on him, a question there, but he didn't return it. Shock may have delayed the reaction a little, but hey, he was actually a little upset, wasn't he? Now that there was time to sit still, the events of the past couple of days crashed into him, leaving him slightly pissed, a little guilty, but mostly hurt. He'd been able to deal when there were more important matters, such as life and death involved, but now.... 

There should be a law about how long one person could be stuck in an airport. 

Though, why he was in a hurry to get back to Cascade was beyond him. There was nothing but more unresolved issues waiting there. One of the biggest issues being where exactly Blair's current residence resided. Sure, Jim, in his own roundabout way, had basically said Blair could come back to the loft, but that just seemed too simple. It smacked of everything being swept underneath the rug instead of actually fixed. 

And fuck, he was easy, because he was going to take it. He was going to take it and he was going to run with it, because he couldn't imagine doing anything else. 

Blair shut his eyes and slouched in the chair, chest aching with pressure, rattling a little every time he breathed too deeply, on the verge of being congested. The headrest dug into his neck, and he swallowed hard, and man, he was going to pass out. Unconscious. Whoosh, slide right down onto that sticky floor. And then Jim, being Jim, would drag his ass up again like some kid who had stayed up long past his bed time, and tell him once more that he never should have came here in the first place. 

Well, duh. He got that dying, being resurrected, and then hopping onto the next plane to Mexico wasn't exactly the smartest idea he'd ever had. But Jim saved Blair's life, Blair did his best to watch Jim's back. Quid pro quo. He was stuck for life. Screw last month's rent, he owed Jim forever. 

'You know what would be nice?' he asked his subconscious, inner-id, mysterious wolf spirit, whatever. 'How about we _not_ obsess over Jim for once? Can we do that? Just for a change.' 

Jim picked that moment to sigh loudly and shift, his big body taking up even more space than usual. His knee bumped against Blair's thigh, one of his fingers making startling contact with Blair's pinky, dragging to the tip, almost caressing, before both odd touches were quickly withdrawn. It had been deliberate, that much was obvious. The Sentinel trying to re-establish a connection with his... what? What was he, anyway? 

Friend. Roommate. Guide-like creature? There just didn't seem to be a notch in Jim's life that fit Blair comfortably. Every definition of his space was too constraining, too not enough, like he was breathing in a small, closed space, waiting for the water to pull him under. 

Well, what he _was_ was the guy reluctant to open the lines of communication this time. Let Jim take a stab at Blair's normal role and stew in his own anxiety for a little while. Let Jim worry about hitting rock bottom and not being able to climb back out. 

Blair let himself revel in his pettiness for about half a second, then shook his head. 

No. It wasn't gonna happen. 

That wasn't the buddy thing to do, was it? And at the end of the day, despite everything, he and Jim were buddies, however uncomfortable the fit was now. They were friends. Pals. And that mattered, that meant something, even if Blair wasn't feeling particularly charitable towards Jim at the moment. 

"You know what I want?" Blair asked abruptly, lifting his head. 

Jim looked at him sharply, whipping his head around so fast it must have hurt. Jim's face remained blank. His eyes, however, told a grim story all their own. There was fear on him despite his hard demeanor. A translucent powder, hardly there at all. Blair wasn't noble enough not to feel slightly vindicated. 

"A Wonder Burger," Blair revealed with relish, savoring the words. He licked his lips, almost tasting it. "With extra cheese, slathered in mayo, on a sesame seed bun." 

Jim smiled slowly, a low laugh rumbling in his throat. "I thought you said that stuff was evil." 

"Not evil, man," Blair corrected. "Just a nuclear bomb on the arteries. But hey, I've been dead. Might as well live a little this time around, huh?" 

And just like that, the light went out of Jim's face. He shut down like someone had flicked a switch. Bam. No more smile. It was kind of unnerving, so similar to zoned-out Jim that Blair was tempted to snap his fingers in front of Jim's face. Instead, he focused his eyes on a middle-aged man kissing his young wife. Or maybe not his young wife. The woman wasn't wearing a ring. The guy was probably going through a mid-life crisis. He'd go home to his wife, fall back in love with her, and never tell her about that time in Sierra Verde. She'd find out one day, and rightly divorce his lying, cheating ass. And they'd live happily ever after, corresponding through divorce attorneys and late-night drunken calls. 

And whoa. Man. When the heck had he become a cynic? 

"I can't believe you're making jokes about it," Jim said harshly, pulling Blair's attention back to him. The lines of Jim's face were cut severely. He looked like some sort of statue, absurdly sitting in a hideous orange chair. "You were dead, Chief." 

"I know, Jim. I was there." 

And he remembered well enough without the reminder. Holding his breath until he couldn't anymore, until his mouth burst open beneath the water, sucking in air where there wasn't any. All that water had come rushing into his mouth, choking him, making his vision grow gray with yellow bouncing spots around the edges. And then... something vague, something he hardly recalled, the faint impression that he'd no longer been in the water, but somewhere else entirely. In the jungle, running with two extra legs, wanting to get out, get out-get-out-getout-- 

Jim's eyes slashed at him. "Yeah, me too. So don't be flip about it." 

Blair was about to do just that when he heard a loud, fierce growl break the tense silence between them. His head jerked back and he gawked at Jim, where he was sure the sound had originated, and wondered once again about the large jungle cat -- sleek black panther, calling him back (please, this isn't happening, don't you go!) -- that he'd merged with in his vision. What the hell had Jim done to him? 

"Sure." Blair looked through the crowd of people in the airport, searching for the men's room. "I gotta take a piss. Be right back." 

In the bathroom, Blair waited until the man in the rumpled business suit finished washing his hands and left until he approached the urinals and eyed their stained porcelain surface dubiously. 

The door opened as he was unzipping his pants. Blair's shoulders slumped. It looked like he wasn't going to get much privacy anywhere for a while, and he had a whole twenty-plus hours before he was back on American soil. The man sidled up beside him, shoulder nearly brushing Blair's, making him look up. Blair stared dumbly, hand still tucked part way inside his shorts when Jim began pulling down his own zipper. 

Jim glanced at him, raised a challenging eyebrow, and reached inside the open slit in the front of his pants. Blair quickly looked away and struggled to go about his business like everything was absolutely normal, cheeks itching with what must be the mother of all blushes. He tugged his cock out and tried to forget who was next to him. Man, there was something _wrong_ about pissing next to the guy he sometimes had carnal fantasies about. Oh well, he couldn't get out of it now. Blair squeezed his eyes shut, thought about England, and prayed that he wouldn't get hard. 

Nothing. 

Blair opened one eye, looked down, and sighed. The head of his penis stared back at him accusingly. It was no use. He'd always had issues going when someone was near him, so he certainly wasn't going to be able to do anything now with all the rampant homoerotic male bonding that was going on. 

Feeling eyes on him, he distractedly turned his head. 

Jim, tucking himself back in, was staring at Blair's dick. Pretty hard too, with strange eyes, and he couldn't seem to get his zipper up. For a moment Blair didn't grasp what he was seeing. His eyes saw one thing, translated it to his brain, but his brain said, 'naaah!' And then, when Jim's tongue flicked out over his bottom lip, it said, 'Oh, uh. Okay. No denying that.' 

Blair's fingers tightened over his dick, and Jim's jaw muscles twitched, his own fingers tightening on his fly. It wasn't exactly a 'do I have something in my teeth?' moment. The moment called for something more evasive, something more... 

"Jim, why are you staring at my dick?" 

When Jim jerked guiltily, nearly unmanning himself, Blair realized he'd actually spoken out loud. Well, crap. There went the idea of ignoring Jim's sudden interest in his nether regions. 

"I, uh." Jim fumbled more frantically with the zipper. It took a moment -- an awkward one while Blair just stood there dumbly and held onto his dick, seriously considering the consequences of crying fire -- but Jim finally zipped his pants. Blair cleared his throat, tongue thick and fat in his mouth. 

Jim looked away, throat working, edging toward the sinks. He clearly thought Blair was suddenly going to have a heterosexual freak out and punch him. Abruptly, like a jump start finally switched on his brain, Blair realized that although Jim and he had walked around each other nearly naked before, that they often even shaved next to each other in the morning, they had never ever shared a urinal. There was something curiously intimate about it. 

Blair tucked himself back in and pulled up the zipper. He'd come back later, when things weren't quite so fucked up. When Blair turned around and approached Jim's stiff back, Jim was very carefully keeping his eyes averted from the large mirror topping the sinks while he washed his hands with more force than strictly necessary. Blair stepped up next to him, stomach shaking, still in shock, but unable to stop himself. 

"You looked at me." Blair accused in a soft voice, staring at Jim's white face. 

Jim's head jerked up, eyes meeting Blair's in the mirror. "I did not!" 

Despite himself, Blair smiled a little, amused. How unlikely was this situation? It just... should never have happened. It was only something that happened on sitcoms. Gay sitcoms. 

"Did too. I was there. Hanging out in the breeze, getting ready to do my business, and you - \- you -- peeked!" 

"Peeked? I did not peek!" Jim shook his head, backing away from the sink, palms up. Water dripped down his wrists. "There was no peeking." 

Blair opened his mouth, then closed it, frowning. What was the point of arguing this? Especially since the outcome could only be Jim throwing him against the wall or some equally hard surface. Or worse, figuring out that maybe, just maybe, Jim peeking didn't upset Blair all that much. That in fact, his skin felt hot and itchy and stretched with how upset he wasn't. 

"No, uh, you're right." Blair forced the words past his dry throat, heart throbbing. And Jim could hear every frightened beat, of course, because Jim heard everything. But his heart insisted on bouncing between his belly and his chest, insisted that he was about five seconds from a panic attack. 

Jim's head cocked to the side, as he did when he listened hard, and then his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I am?" 

"Yeah, man, definitely. Just forget it." 

Back up, back off, get out! 

It was like a hostage situation. Blair negotiated the ground between him and the door carefully, air hard on his skin, teeth gritted to keep himself from saying something stupid or revealing. He just had to get out, and then they'd pretend they hadn't seriously messed up their line in the sand. 

Jim's face hardened as Blair backed toward the door, skin tightening across his skull, jaw tensing. He did a pretty good imitation of a brick wall. It was like he _knew_ something, heard it in the way Blair spoke, and suddenly none of this was funny anymore. It wasn't amusing that Jim felt he had to sneak shameful glances at Blair's dick, that he wanted to, and it wasn't funny that Blair couldn't go ten consecutive minutes without thinking about Jim. So. Not. Amusing. 

"Blair--" Painful, choked, like Jim had a mouthful of water, like he was the one drowning this time around. 

"See ya." The bathroom door swung shut behind Blair with a rusty screech, and his stomach was still shaking. 

* * *

The next few hours were, in a word, tense. By the time their flight number was announced, Blair was dripping with sweat, and most of it wasn't because of the heat. Anxiety tended to bring out the severe body conditions in him. Worse, there was a constant pressure focused behind his eyes, steadily growing more painful as the hours passed. On their way to the gate, he forced himself into a jovial conversation with Megan about the significance of perfume in modern mating rituals, keenly aware of Jim's heavy silence, and the occasional soft conversation he picked up with Simon. 

"...don't think Alex actually wanted to hurt..." 

"...was dead, Jim!" And then Simon sighed, shook his head, and stopped talking. 

Megan seemed to know something unpleasant was going on because she kept tossing concerned glances at Jim while their tickets were checked, identifications inspected, and baggage searched. And then her gaze would slide back to Blair, a question in her eyes. 

"Jesus," Blair muttered under his breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

The short blonde woman going through his underwear lifted her head. 

Blair stared at her blankly, before realization struck him, and he jerked. "Sorry. Uh, talking to myself. Long week, ya know?" 

She smiled and nodded, and Blair took a deep breath, smiling back. She had one of those sweet little smiles that could have melted butter. 

"So." Blair leaned against the table. "What's your name?" 

She looked down at her name tag as if she didn't know it herself. "Nancy," she replied, a little breathlessly, before she visibly shook herself and cleared her throat. "My name is Nancy." 

"Nice to meet you, Nancy." He smiled warmly and held out his hand. "My name's Blair." 

Out of the blue, just as Nancy was about to clasp his hand, Jim gave him a little shove with his shoulder, and there was a sharp tug on Blair's hip. The force nearly knocked Blair over. He regained his balance -- barely -- by grabbing onto the table, and shot a vicious glare at Jim. What the fuck? 

Jim stared back at him innocently, pulling his finger free of Blair's belt loop. "Just giving you a hand, partner." 

Over Jim's shoulder, Megan raised her eyebrows suggestively at Blair, winking broadly. Blair frowned at her, then turned back to Nancy with an apology on his lips, but she'd already repacked his things, and zipped up his bag with a sharp hiss. Her face was oddly closed. 

"Have a nice flight," she said politely. 

Blair's ego whimpered. "Yeah. Right." 

It wasn't until he was striding down the aisle of the plane that Blair realized what had gone on back there. Jim's finger had been tucked into his belt loop the entire time. Blair stopped mid-aisle, thunderstruck. He hadn't even known anything out of the ordinary was happening, just Jim being a dick. No wonder Megan had looked at him like that. No wonder Nancy had suddenly gotten really interested in moving him along. They'd both seen Jim's misguided attempt to guard him. How could he have not realized Jim was laying some sort of territorial claim on him? 

'Because he didn't want you to,' his head whispered in a dangerously quiet voice. 'And Jim always gets what he wants.' 

Blair spotted Simon seated next to the business man he'd passed in the bathroom, and quickly took the final seat in that section, all but throwing himself into it, startling Simon out of his doze. 

"Sandburg," he growled. "What are you doing?" 

"Just sitting." Blair paused. Simon was still staring at him. "Uh. You?" 

"Wondering why you're sitting here, is what I'm doing. Go bug Megan or Jim." 

Blair gripped the arm rests on his seat, shaking his head firmly. "No way, man. I'm sitting next to you. You're going to have to pry me out of this chair with the jaws of life, because I'm not moving." 

Simon's eyes widened behind his glasses. "You okay, Sandburg? You're acting stranger than usual." 

Blair laughed uneasily. "Sure. I'm cool. Five by five. Just wanna sit here with a pal of mine and catch up." He saw Simon's disapproving frown and hurriedly continued. "By saying absolutely nothing at all. Not a word. Just gonna listen to the pleasant hum of the plane and not--" 

"Okay, okay. I get it." Simon shook his head wearily, and leaned back, closing his eyes again with only a quiet mutter. "Kids these days." 

Blair sighed in relief and relaxed into the seat, head lolling on his neck. Exhaustion crept through his limbs, weighing his arms down on the rests, his thighs down on the cushion, making his feet heavy in his shoes. But only a second after he'd buckled up and settled in, shutting his eyes, something like a ping! went up his spine and he straightened, eyes flying right back open. Simon grunted in irritation next to him. 

What was this new awareness? It must have been because of what had happened at the fountain. There was no other explanation, because Jim stood at the mouth of the plane, looking over the rows of seats, almost instantly latching his gaze onto Blair's, and Blair _felt_ it. Jim nodded and started forward, before stopping suddenly with a familiar aggravated expression. Megan ran into Jim's back with a startled "oomph" and stumbled back a couple steps, nearly losing her grip on her carry-on. Blair met Jim's gaze steadily, refusing to waver. 

'There,' he wanted to say, and hoped his eyes said it for him. 'Kick me out of your apartment, and sure, I can understand that. Question my place in your life, and okay, I can take it. Make out with the bitch that _killed_ me, and hey, I can deal. But you don't look at my dick, and you don't scare off my dates, and you don't mess with the status quo just because you take a bath and see inside yourself. Got it?' 

"Jim?" Blair heard Megan ask. 

Jim shook himself out of whatever net of thought that had trapped him, and dropped his eyes. Blair's lungs, which felt eerily full of water, emptied. He breathed again, deeply. His hands were too light, too still, so he bent forward, grabbing a magazine out of the rearpocket of the seat in front of him. Just as he opened it, assailed by the scent of too many perfume ads, Jim passed by him, a wave of heat and sweat and white-hot hurt. 

Blair steadfastly refused to look up, staring blindly at the curve of a woman's nude body, an artistic photo taken to advertise a perfume called Lion Fields. Sex sold. Blair's eyes fell shut, head forward, because man, did it sell. 

* * *

Blair slept on and off for most of that first flight. It was only cat naps really, because he'd never been great at sleeping sitting up. Contrarily, the more he slept, the more exhausted he was. It was not an experience he was eager to repeat. 

The third time his head slipped onto Simon's shoulder, he earned a hard tap on the cheek, followed by a gruff, "Sandburg, out of my space!" 

Blair jerked upright, eyes wide open. "I'm awake!" 

"Finally," Simon muttered. 

Blair blinked a few times, and rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. "What time is it?" he asked, voice gravelly. 

Simon looked over at him. He'd taken his jacket off, and his shirt cuffs were rolled up on his forearms. "We're almost at our first stop." 

Blair nodded, and yawned. "So this is what being hit by a bus feels like." 

Simon chuckled humorlessly. Blair was surprised by the amount of emotion in that sour laugh and eyed Simon speculatively. In the hospital after his drowning, Jim had told him that Simon was pretty shaken up by Blair's close call. Simon hadn't actually come to visit him in the hospital -- not that Blair had been there long anyway -- so he hadn't been able to judge for himself just how Simon had been affected. But if the age showing on Simon's face was any indication, the last few days hadn't been easy. 

Simon shifted under Blair's concerned stare, and then stood. "Bathroom." 

"Ah." Blair moved his legs out of the way so Simon could pass. 

A moment later, when Blair was almost back to sleep, he was abruptly snatched back to consciousness by a tap on his shoulder. He flailed for a moment, then grabbed the arm rests tightly, and looked up, expecting to find Simon towering over him impatiently. Instead, it was Jim, not so impatiently. He looked unsure. 

"Jim?" 

"I was just heading up front," Jim explained. "Gonna grab something alcoholic. You want?" 

"You're buying?" 

Jim nodded. "My treat." 

"Uh, sure." Blair licked his chapped lips. "A beer would be cool." 

"Right." Jim left, walking slowly down the aisle to avoid the occasional limb or bag that someone had forgotten about. Blair watched him go, watched him all while he talked to that nice looking flight attendant. As if Jim felt Blair's gaze -- and maybe he did -- he lifted his head, gave him a half smile, and picked up two bottles. 

Blair quickly fixed his attention elsewhere. He slapped his palms against his thighs, remembering the magazine he'd been reading earlier, and searched around his and Simon's seat for it, but apparently it had vanished into thin air. 

"Legs," Jim said, already standing beside him. 

Blair took the offered beer, and glanced around for a stunning pair. "Huh? Where?" 

Jim sighed and rolled his eyes. "Not that, Chief. Move yours." 

Blair automatically flattened against his seat, confused when Jim struggled past, using one hand on the luggage bin overhead to keep his balance as he lowered his large frame into Simon's seat. "What are you doing?" 

Jim didn't spare him so much as a glance. "Simon ordered me to switch seats with him." He twisted off the cap on his beer, grinning to himself. "Seems you drooled on his shoulder." 

Blair reflexively wiped the back of his hand over his lips. Jim pointed the mouth of his beer at him. "Drink." 

Blair looked at the beer in his hand, shrugged, and took a large gulp. It went down cold and hard, hitting his stomach hard enough to fully wake him up. And then, silence. Uncomfortable, long, ugly silence that never should have been. 

Blair cleared his throat. "So, did I ever tell you about the Inuvik--" 

"Sandburg." 

Blair rolled his head to face Jim. "Yeah?" 

"Shut up," Jim said, without heat. 

"Yeah." 

Jim just stared back at him for another moment, his face unreadable beneath the damp glow of the reading light. And then he leaned forward, just slightly, like he was going to lay one on Blair right there with everyone around them. Blair didn't know whether to panic or play dead. And then, just as Blair was about to freak big time, scream or grab the back of Jim's head, Jim hesitated. Blair couldn't move, limbs frozen, in stasis while Jim's eyes scanned his face. Blair wondered what he was looking for, whether Jim was staring at the cells up close or looking somewhere deeper, somewhere even a Sentinel shouldn't be able to see. 

"See," Jim said eventually, moving his face back a couple of inches, giving Blair some much appreciated breathing space. "Thing is, I suck at apologies." 

Blair tilted his head to the side. "Yes," he responded cautiously. 

Jim rolled his beer between his palms, hitching his shoulders as if throwing off a weight. "So, I'm not gonna apologize. But you've got your beer, and I've got my beer, and I'm thinking we can kinda just sit here and neither one of us will have to say anything." 

Maybe it didn't excuse Jim's exploration in voyeurism, and maybe Jim hadn't explained why he'd suddenly felt the need to be all grabby-hands in front of Nancy, but it was more than Blair had expected. And he smiled, pretty much against his will. 

"Maybe. Or maybe you can sit there and not have to say anything, and you'll let me tell you about the Inuvik." 

Jim smiled crookedly. "Or you could wait and tell me that at home, Chief." 

Home. So simple. Too simple. Oh yeah, he was easy. 

"I could do that," Blair agreed, and took a sip of his beer. 

* * *

Megan surprised Blair by latching onto him with a hug while they waited for their luggage to magically appear at the baggage claim. It was quick and hard, then done, and she pulled back looking slightly teary-eyed, which was shocking enough that he could only gape at her while she regained her equilibrium. And then her chin hardened and she took a deep breath, widening her stance. A modern day gunslinger. "You take care, Sandy." 

Blair, exasperated, rolled his eyes. "You so dig me." 

He shooed her away, waving his hands. She went reluctantly, wheeling her weathered suitcase behind her. Blair turned to Simon, busy lugging a large, impeccable looking suitcase down off the conveyer belt. 

"What was that about?" Blair asked Simon hopefully, gesturing in Megan's direction. 

Simon looked up from his luggage with a preoccupied frown, first at Blair, then at Megan's retreating back. His frown smoothed into a sad smile. "She saw you die, Sandburg." He sounded a little exasperated himself, like the question shouldn't have even been asked. 

Blair took a step back instinctively, as if he could physically separate himself from the fact that yeah, he had been dead. Deceased. Just gone. "Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course." He waved his arms to ward off any more explanation. "Thanks." 

Simon peered at Blair over his glasses for a weighty moment, then clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, and went to speak quietly to Jim. They shared a smile and words Blair couldn't overhear as hard as he tried, casually running his fingers over the strap of his carry-on while he waited. Simon nodded at Jim and walked, somewhat creakily, perhaps, into the crowd, quickly swallowed up by the throng of people. 

Staring after him, Blair was struck for the first time that it was over. They'd stumbled into an alternate universe, and the world had somehow stopped in their absence, waiting for them to return. Blair felt Jim's arm slide over his shoulders, giving him a friendly squeeze, and it _was_ over. 

Blair shut his eyes, and took his first clear breath in a long, long time. 

"Let's go home," Jim said quietly, near his ear. 

Blair nodded distractedly, sliding his arm across Jim's lower back to return the embrace. They walked out of the airport like that, Blair's bag bouncing against his thigh with every step. Jim's hip brushed against Blair's occasionally when one of them misjudged a step, and it should have been weird being so close after all they had been through, but it wasn't. It was like stepping back into their old roles, and all it had taken was Jim buying him a beer. 

Easier and easier every day. 

Outside, the sun was just coming up. It turned the city a warm shade of gold, glinting off windows, metal, and cars slowly pushing their way through the traffic to work. Jim lead him to where he'd parked the truck. Blair waited, staring up at the clear morning sky while Jim unlocked his door, put his suitcase behind the seat, then leaned over and released the lock on Blair's door. 

"Thanks," Blair murmured, hitching himself up onto the seat. He tossed his bag between them. Jim said nothing, starting the truck. "Guess the battery survived." 

"Got plenty of rest." 

Jim, in profile, looked like he could use a week or two of sleep. 

"Sure did," Blair observed thoughtfully. "But how about you?" 

"Too noisy on the plane," Jim said, putting on the blinker. 

"You could have tuned it out." 

Jim pulled out into traffic, shrugging halfheartedly. "Not right now, I can't." 

"What?" Blair blinked several times. He closed his hand over the strap of his bag, shoving it onto the floor so he could lean toward Jim and study his face as if it would somehow reveal the mysteries held within. "Since when? Since the temple?" 

"Yeah." Jim glanced at the rear view mirror, tongue flickering at the edge of his mouth. "I told you everything was sharper. I'm feeling things, you know, harder. I can't turn it down right now." 

Blair jerked the tie from his hair, then dug his fingers through the thick strands, blunt nails scraping across his scalp. "Jesus, Jim, you didn't tell me that you were having trouble using the dials. Man, if I had known, I would have sat with you, I would have--" 

Jim's head jerked. "You didn't want to. Doesn't matter, Chief." 

"Jim, we're gonna have to _talk_ about this. This is... This isn't good." 

Jim looked at him briefly, eyes slicing from the top of Blair's face to his chin, and Blair felt it like bristles scraping across his skin. He flinched back from it, from the sensation, from the heat in that single, telling glance. 

A change was coming. Blair knew it in his bones. 

Jim focused on the road again, the muscles in his arms stretched tautly as he leaned forward against the wheel. "We will. Just not now. Please." 

And Blair only nodded, because when had he denied Jim anything? It was sad and it was pathetic, and it was a lot of things, but mostly true. He couldn't deny Jim shit. 

Moments later, when Jim took the wrong exit, Blair blinked at the sign they passed, sitting up straighter on the bench seat. 

"Ah. Hey, Jim. Man. You just--" 

Jim interrupted him, "You wanted a Wonder Burger, right?" 

Blair started to say no out of instinctive dislike for all things greasy, then recalled their conversation nearly an entire day ago. Warm pleasure liquified his spine. "Yeah. You're right. I guess I did. You're paying, right?" 

Jim tossed him an amused glance. "Don't I always?" 

"Hey, I'm a starving student here. I've got an image to uphold. I can't just go out and starting making money." Blair lifted his shoulder, grinning slyly. "Imagine what my peers would think." 

Jim's hand landed on his shoulder again, bestowing on Blair a manly sort of pat that he'd seen on television Christmas specials, that changed into something a little more R-rated than _It's A Wonderful Life_. It trailed off into a lingering caress of Blair's arm as Jim's fingertips reluctantly left him. Blair raised his eyebrows, curiously eyeing the hand that had dropped to the seat between them, looking big, white, and lonely. What was with all this touching? Sure, Jim had always been a hands on type of guy, surprisingly so, but this was getting a little redundant. 

"Does this mean I'm not getting last month's rent?" Jim asked dryly, forehead wrinkling as he tried to split his attention between Blair and the road, which got busier as they approached the entrance to Wonder Burger. Blair fixated on Jim's hand on the seat between them, watched as it curled into a lax fist, forming a loose circle. The kind of grip one would need to wrap around a-- 

Okay, _so_ not going there. 

Blair laughed, choking on it a little as he struggled not to think along the lines of Jim's sex appeal, at least until he was good and alone and outside Sentinel sense range. "Hey, Jim, man, I'd die for you, but I'm not sure I'd pay my half of the rent for you. I mean, how much can you ask from one guy?" 

Jim laughed, but he seemed uncomfortable with the joke. "Funny, Chief. You're a regular Bill Cosby." 

They pulled into Wonder Burger and went through the drive through. Jim bought Blair a burger, fries, and a coke, then got himself one of those fajita things. It was going to be difficult to eat the wrap while driving, but he and Jim had mastered the fine art of eating on the run. Blair ended up peeling the outside wrapper halfway down the fajita, so that Jim could have something to hold onto and the sauce wouldn't drip all over the place, then handing it back. 

Jim's thanks was a grunt of approval after his first bite. 

Blair took that as leave to dig into his own food, and a noise bloomed deep in his throat, a cross between a whimper and a moan, when he took his first bite of the burger. "Is it sad that this is as good as sex to me right now?" Blair asked around a mouthful of meat and other things he didn't want to think about. 

Jim bit off another chunk of the wrap, chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed, then said gravely, "Yep. 'Fraid so." 

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Blair took another bite, and pulled a handful of fries out of the greasy cardboard box, nearly losing one to the floor before his knee caught it. "I mean, right now I don't even care what this is doing to my heart." Blair picked up the fry on his knee and popped it into his mouth, licking a bit of salt off his thumb. 

"One burger isn't going to damage your arteries," Jim argued, looking offended. "I eat them all the time and look at me." 

Blair smirked at Jim, who had a spot of sauce above his top lip. "Oh, really. And when did you become Mr. Ego?" 

Jim smarted at that. "Just eat your damn burger, Sandburg," he ordered, and that seemed to be the end of it. Blair happily complied. Looking stung, Jim began tapping the steering wheel with his forefinger as he maneuvered through the early morning traffic. His jaw worked overtime. A moment later, Jim continued in a low, intense voice, "You don't think I look good?" 

The last of Blair's burger stopped halfway to his mouth. Blair's jaw snapped shut with a click of his teeth, and he stared down at the burger, unable to move while a glob of ketchup dripped out of the center, landing with a plop on his stiff thigh, bleeding into the fabric. No way did Jim just ask him that. It was against all natural laws. Jim wasn't curious if Blair thought he was hot, and even if he was, he'd never ask. Except, well, he _had_. 

Jim's foot began tapping in counterpoint to his finger, his entire leg shaking with nervous energy, the other twitching dangerously on the brake as Jim slowed down. When Blair looked over, all of that tightly wound power paused, restrained only by Blair's eyes as Jim waited for the answer. Jim's gaze slid toward his, then away again, fierce on the road. 

"You're asking me if you look good?" Blair still didn't quite believe it. There had to be a joke in there somewhere. There had to be a punch line. 

Jim fidgeted, then nodded tightly, clearly against his will. 

Blair couldn't help it. This was too good to pass up. He laughed, poking Jim in the side. "Well, aren't you just the enlightened male of the 90's!" 

"Lay off." Jim swatted Blair's hand away. "Forget it." 

Blair stopped teasing at the hoarse embarrassment in Jim's voice. Jim was really upset. His face was red right up to the roots of his hair, the tick in his jaw going off at least twenty times a minute. Blair guiltily shrank back to his side of the truck, and Jim's finger started tapping against the wheel again, furiously now: tap, tap, tap-taptaptaptap. 

"Oh, c'mon." Nothing responded to his plea but the slow grind of Jim's dentistry work getting shot all to hell. Blair heaved a long suffering sigh. "Jim, it's just. I." 

'I can't tell you that you look good. That's, like, rule number two, right after rule number one: though shall not molest thy research subject (see: best friend).' 

Taptaptaptaptaptap. 

Haltingly, glaring out the window instead of facing Jim, Blair gave in. "Okay. You look. Uh. Good. You look good, all right?" 

Taptaptap-tap-tap. Tap. The finger slowed to a stop, then rested easily with the others. The tension in Jim's body lessened by degrees, until he all but melted against the seat, looselimbed beneath his clothes. He shot Blair a smile that moved over him like a full body sigh. Thank God. For a moment there, he was sure Jim was going to pop a blood vessel or seriously strain something in his eyes by glowering at the road so earnestly. 

"Yeah?" Jim asked, voice only a thin octave above dangerous. 

"Yeah." Forget the full body sigh. This was more like a full body earthquake. "All right?" 

Jim smiled, happily, a big black cat with his cream. "All right, then." 

They were silent the rest of the ride home. Blair couldn't seem to think of a single witty thing to say to interrupt the quiet, and then he decided that maybe it wasn't such a good idea anyway. A quiet Jim was a Jim that didn't rock Blair out of the nice little place he'd made for himself. That place where maybe he was a little stuck on Jim, but Jim was his best friend. And it didn't matter, couldn't matter, _shouldn't_ matter that sometimes, when it was late and he could hear Jim's snores echoing through the loft, he thought about what it might be like to smooth his palms over that chiseled chest. 

He was entitled to fantasies, wasn't he? He'd always been a dreamer, even before Jim, it just happened that these days most of those dreams _included_ Jim. Blair had never been with a man, any man, so the irony that the first one he'd find himself attracted to would be a repressed, and yes, slightly balding cop? So not lost on him. Worse, these days, there wasn't much desire beyond Jim period, which was just a whole new level of suck, but he was dealing with it. Truly. 

Blair caught a yawn with the back of his hand when Jim pulled into a parking space outside of 852 Prospect. Jim shifted the gear, cut the engine, and then turned on the bench seat so that he was facing Blair. His eyes were soft. "We're home." 

Blair moaned halfheartedly. "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me." 

"Then you must be a cheap date." 

"Never claimed otherwise." Blair smiled, and dragged himself out of the truck, slamming the door hard enough behind him to rattle the window. They rode the elevator up. Blair fidgeted nervously, shoving his hands into his pockets, then dragging them out again. He hauled his hands through his hair, caught Jim's concerned glance out of the corner of his eye, then forced himself to calm down. He leaned against the wall of the elevator until it jounced to a stop and the doors opened with a whoosh. 

At the loft door, Jim fumbled his keys out of his pocket, the light overhead glinting off his sweaty forehead. So Blair wasn't the only one who was nervous. That wasn't much of a comfort, and Blair was too tired to gloat. 

The key snicked into place, and Blair's heart bounced around the cage of his ribs like a ping pong ball on crack. There was something vulnerable about Jim as he bent to the task, sticking the key into the lock with unnecessary care, his neck bare and sunburned, his face shuttered. Blair hunched his shoulders and looked away when he realized his fingers were flinching, straining to touch the short hairs there, run his fingers up the back of Jim's neck into that ruthlessly trimmed hair. 

Jim cleared his throat, and Blair jerked, realizing that Jim was standing inside the loft, holding the door open. His expression said clearly that if Blair made a break for it, just decided to cut his losses and get the fuck out of Dodge, he'd have a fight. Not that he was exactly planning his great escape here, but after the way he'd been tossed out, Blair appreciated the thought. Blair edged past the door, a little stunned when he saw the stack of empty boxes on the island in the kitchen. 

Blair turned. "Jim?" 

Jim, locking the door, shrugged. "I-I, uh. When you were in the hospital..." He turned and waved his hand vaguely in the direction of Blair's bedroom. "Your stuff's back in your bedroom. I didn't know where you wanted everything. I put your books-" 

Blair stopped him with a raised hand. "It's fine. I'll figure it out on my own. If I need help finding something, I'll ring a bell or something, cool?" 

"Sure." Jim said nothing more, still standing by the door. 

Blair, unsure, started toward his room. Jim's eyes widened, and he took a few quick steps forward. "Uh, don't you wanna-" 

"I'm tired," Blair said quickly. "Aren't you tired?" 

"Sandburg... Blair." Jim said his name awkwardly, as if it had gotten tangled around his tongue on the way out. "You gotta-I need..." Jim blew out a frustrated breath, scraping his palm over his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm pretty fucking tired myself." 

A low swell of foolish anticipation rode Blair's gut. Absently, he rubbed his palm over the spot and tried to calm the sensation. "Get some sleep, okay, man? I want to talk about what you experienced in the temple when we're both a little more human." 

Jim's knuckles were white, mouth thin. 

Hesitating, Blair nodded one final time, and escaped into his room. He leaned against the door when he shut it behind him, taking a moment to thank a deity or two for this reprieve from reality. When he pushed away from the door, he saw that Jim really had started unpacking his room. His books were back on the shelf Jim had given him for his last birthday, organized by title instead of the haphazard filing method Blair was used to, of letting the book go where the book wanted to go. 

Blair ran his fingers across the top of the book shelf, noting the lack of dust, and surveyed his room in wonder. It was _clean_. When had Jim found the time to do all this before he'd run off to Sierra Verde? 

Pulling open the dresser drawers, Blair found his clothes were actually inside them for a change, folded neatly and carefully stacked by type. Blair flashed on Jim's big hands flattening the shirts and tucking them inside, before he hesitantly got to his knees and peeked under his futon. Just as he'd suspected he would, he caught the faded scent of cleaning chemicals in his nostrils and pinched his fingers over his nose to avoid sneezing, wondering how Jim had been able to stand it. It looked like his back up plan for eventual financial stability by breeding dust bunny creatures with the neighboring farms in the rest of his room was a no go. 

Climbing back to his feet with a groan, Blair threw himself onto his stomach on the futon. He'd see what Jim did with the rest of his stuff in a couple of days, when he actually felt like he could reasonably move without his lungs falling out. Blair listened to Jim's home-noises, bare feet moving across the floor, cupboards quietly being opened and shut, and his eyes slid slowly closed as he situated his head into a comfortable position on his overstuffed pillow. 

Now, if Jim would just be quiet, Blair could get some sleep. And really, you'd think a Sentinel would be more sensitive about things like this. Blair expected to hear the sound of Jim going upstairs, but when more than five minutes went by and Jim still hadn't went to bed, he couldn't take it anymore. 

"What are you doing?" Blair demanded, louder than he needed to. "C'mere." 

The noise abruptly stopped. A moment later, Jim opened Blair's door, poking his head and one naked shoulder through the space. "The news is on." 

Blair raised himself up onto his elbows. "You're watching the news." 

Jim shrugged, scratching a spot on that bare, perfectly sculpted chest. Blair's mouth began to water, drool gathering like it would actually be put to use one day. 

Yeah. Fucking. Right. 

"After be awake for days, experiencing an excruciating journey of self-enlightenment, and saving my life, you're watching the damn news." 

"Yes, Chief, I'm watching the news." Jim made an irritated noise in his throat, grimacing. "This is shocking to you, how?" 

"Why the hell are you watching the news? Bed, Jim. You know, that lake-sized mattress of yours that other people, like me, would kill for? You should be there." 

Jim, obviously exasperated, leaned against the door frame. "I'll grab some sleep soon. And now I'm gonna start sleeping with one eye open, thanks." Blair maintained his unwavering position on the futon, and eventually Jim softened, wiping a palm over the top of his head in a gesture that expressed his weariness. "I promise I'll go to bed after I find out what the media knows about you and... Alex." 

Blair flinched at the name, but quickly covered it by nodding, reluctantly conceding Jim's point. It was a good idea to be prepared for the onslaught of reporters. Blair dragged his legs over the side of the futon and propelled himself to his feet. 

"Whoa there, Speed Racer." Jim straightened, blocking the doorway. He raised his palms to halt Blair's progress. "Just where the hell do you think you're going?" 

Blair moved to the left to get around Jim, but Jim mirrored the motion. Blair repositioned to the right, and once again, Jim was right there, a solid obstacle between Blair and the door. 

Blair shoved a handful of curls out of his face, retreating a step. "Come on, Jim." Okay. Whining. Not the way to win Jim over. "You think you're the only one that wants to know what they're saying? I'm the guy that died. That's pretty big news. Let me have my fifteen minutes, huh?" Jim didn't budge. Blair tossed his hands up. "Hey, it's you're fault for making my brain actually fire a few synapses, so deal." 

Blair drove forward again, pushing his shoulder against Jim's as he would playing a game of one on one. He was relieved when after a moment of charged hesitation, Jim let him pass. Their skin scraped together, hot and a little damp with sweat, and Blair kept walking, but his left eyeball was twitching with stress. It felt like Jim had scalded the entire left side of Blair's body. 

He grabbed the remote off the arm of the couch and flopped onto it on his back, lifting his feet up so that he took up most of the space. Defiantly, he aimed the remote at the television and turned up the volume. Jim grabbed Blair's ankles and lifted them. Expecting to have his legs dropped over the side, Blair was surprised when Jim sat down at the end of the couch and let Blair's feet fall onto his lap. His heart skipped a beat, but Jim didn't seem to notice his reaction, staring intently at the television. 

Blair dug his heel against the top of Jim's thigh to get his attention. "Yo, man, since I'm awake..." Jim looked down at him, more intensely than he had the television, or maybe it was the angle of his head playing a trick. "I think we should talk about your senses." 

"Always the anthropologist..." 

"Never the bride. Whatever, Jim. I'm being serious here." 

"I can see that." Jim's eyebrows rose and fell, and he relaxed into the cushions, wearing his best resigned face. "Okay, Chief. Go ahead." 

"Earlier, you said your senses were 'harder' right?" Blair waited for Jim to nod. "Okay, by harder, do you mean sharper or maybe you're experiencing your senses on a fuller level? Like Alex seemed to?" 

Jim went quiet, eyes glazing over as he stared out the glass doors leading to the balcony. And then he shrugged sheepishly. "Could be. Listen Chief, it's not as black and white as that. I'm not sensing any more than I did before. It's just, uh, focused. Or something." 

"Focused." Blair rolled the word around on his tongue, gathering all its meanings into his head. "Okay, focused, it's easier to concentrate, or focused like film in a camera?" He slapped his palm against his stomach impatiently, knee bouncing as he struggled to translate his thoughts from his brain to his mouth. Jim casually placed one big hand over Blair's bouncing knee, stilling it. "What does 'focused' mean?" 

Jim's gave Blair's kneecap a squeeze. "I don't know. Both. It's... I can separate what I'm sensing from what I want to sense faster, easier, more clearly. But I'm trying to tell you, it can't be explained in those terms. It just kinda... is." 

Blair gaped, letting out a laugh that was too loud. "Man, that's the second enlightened thought you've had in a day. What the hell happened to you in that water?" 

"I saw things." Jim sank against the cushions, shoulders slumping. "I can barely remember them now. I know that I saw what I feared. And then, I don't know. I guess I saw you." 

Blair twitched beneath Jim's cupping hand. It had begun to caress Blair's skin ever so slightly, using the gentle motions required to soothe a spooked horse. Which was just weird. And kind of sexy. "Uh, me? As in... me?" 

"Yeah." Jim paused, spacing out the words. "You." 

"Well, that's not so surprising. I mean, I'm a pivotal figure in your life man, you have to admit." Blair sat up abruptly. Jim had taken what smacked of a somewhat proprietary hold on his knee, and Blair couldn't hold still. His other knee began to bounce. "Sure, I'm also a relatively new development once you factor in your age, but-" 

"You saying I'm old?" 

"I'm saying that it doesn't matter that I'm new. I've been helping your abilities come out of the closet." Blair winced at the phrasing. That wasn't a good way to word things, considering Jim's recent peculiar behavior. "So to speak. But, Jim, that means I'm a pretty pivotal figure in your life. You can't really argue with that." 

"Chief, no one's arguing here but you." 

Oh. Right. "Do you remember how you saw me?" 

Jim's fingers swept down Blair's shin, an electric charge causing Blair's leg hairs stand on end. A tiny shiver shook his tired body, followed by the sluggish throb of arousal. Jim seemed dazed by the contact as well, and his jaw drooped, his tongue swiping wetly across his lips. 

"You were in trouble," Jim said after an instant of uncomfortable tension. His eyes were fixated on his fingers touching Blair's shin. "You were dead and it was my fault. I hated myself." The words hung between them, gathering importance with every second that they remained silent, before Jim shook himself, flushing. "I saw other people too," he said too quickly, defensively. 

"You just can't remember them." 

Jim flexed his fingers around Blair's leg, admitting, "No. Not like I remember you." 

That was something to ponder later. "I think we're going to have to do some of our previous tests over, Jim. Get a feel for the significance of this change. I'll have to find a way to measure it." He held a hand up, delaying Jim's inevitable refusal. "I know, I know, it can't be explained, it simply is. Even so, I can't help you control this development if I don't know how it works, so you're going to have to bear with me on this one." 

Jim made a face, clearly displaying what he thought of _that_. "Tests, Chief? And here I thought we'd moved past that stage in our relationship." 

Blair sliced his palm through the air emphatically. "Never, Jim." 

"I'm not feeling very comforted," Jim complained grumpily, glaring at the floor. The silence that returned between them was comfortable this time. At least, it was until Jim's thumb began caressing Blair's calf muscle. He turned oddly intense eyes on Blair. "Guide me back to comfort." He leaned into Blair until he scooted backwards on the couch, dragging himself to the arm. "Guide me," Jim murmured deeply, imitating a hypnotist trying to get his audience of one to fall into a trance. His hand, on Blair's leg, moved up to his knee, the top of his thigh... 

It was way over the top, but at the same time, Blair felt a definite stirring of interest in his pants. He swallowed hard, and jerked his head around to stare at the television, vision blurry. 

This couldn't be happening. Jim was toying with him. This was some cosmic joke, some bored God that loved toying with horny anthropologists playing a trick on him, because there was just no way Jim was making a move. _The_ move. 

Blair's eyes widened when they landed on the television screen and he caught a fleeting photo of Rainier. "Shit, Jim, we missed the news segment about us." 

Jim's hand stilled on his thigh, big and heavy with missed opportunities, then withdrew. 

Blair swallowed away a healthy pound or two of unrealistic disappointment, and played up his devastation . "I was on the news and I _missed_ it," he moaned dramatically. 

Jim rolled his eyes, and his breathing was a little faster than normal, wasn't it? "I'm taping the news, Chief. Calm down." 

"You're taping it?" 

"Yep." 

"And you didn't tell me this? I could have been getting some sleep." 

Jim glared at him in disbelief. "You have got to be the most aggravating..." 

"Yes?" Blair asked innocently, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Jim shut his mouth, and crooked a finger. "C'mere." 

His hands latched onto Blair's shoulders, and it was either move or be moved. As it turned out, it was a little of both. Jim dragged him across the sofa as Blair struggled to comply so that he wouldn't somehow find his ass on the floor. That would be one more bruise he so didn't need to explain to his next date. He ended up with his face buried in Jim's shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around his back, sprawled across Jim like a fur coat on a hot day. 

"Uh, Jim?" Blair wondered if 'Let me up now, or I might sexually attack you!' would go over well. He imagined not. 

Jim was chuckling quietly, chest rumbling beneath Blair's cheek. Cautiously Blair tried to return the clumsy embrace, but as he shifted his center of balance, he only ended up tipping Jim the rest of the way over so that he was on his back on the couch and Blair was half on top of him. If someone walked in right then, Blair's last shreds of virtue would be completely trashed. Jim didn't seem to mind, he just kept chuckling, petting Blair's hair like he was the favored household pet. 

Okay, so this was a new level of weird. 

Blair forced his palms against the cushions to try and gain some leverage to get free, but it was a fruitless effort. Jim's arms were like _iron_. The more he struggled, the bigger deal it became, and Blair wasn't sure he was ready to deal with the fair to large sized problem getting pretty intimate with his stomach. The Twilight Zone had landed, man, and his name was Jim Ellison. 

He gave up and settled down, allowing his limbs to relax. Jim would release him eventually, when he came back from whatever land of bizarre he was visiting. Blair let his cheek rest on Jim's smooth, uncovered chest, and there it was again; that sizzle of connection, that sting in the back of his throat as their skin touched. Fire seemed to spread from Jim's skin until even the air Blair breathed scalded his tongue. 

Jim's fingers got tangled up in Blair's hair, went deep like he wasn't ever coming out, until he could stroke Blair's scalp with the blunt edge of his nails. Jim's other arm clenched and released along the small of Blair's back, in time with Blair's heartbeat. The rhythm was lulling, and Blair's eyes drifted shut on an exhale of breath that stirred the sparse, almost nonexistent hair fuzzing Jim's chest. 

Clench. Release. Clench. Release. 

Jim smelled of sweat and too much travel time, but it wasn't a bad odor. Just more of Jim. It was Jim concentrated. Blair inhaled deeply, feeling exhaustion settle over him like a wet cloud, dripping across his prone back. All the while, the hand in his hair got more tangled up. And the heartbeat beneath his ear, Jim's heartbeat, got louder, expanding to wrap around Blair, wrap around them both and take them under. 

* * *

He ran. 

He ran fast, and he ran hard. There was something inside him that was calling him away from the jungle. In his blood, this desperate urge to go and keep going, leaving behind all the hard work of the jungle, all the danger, when the jungle gave so little of what he really wanted in return. 

Blue tinged vines scraped against his skin as ran, grabbing at his wrists, at his ankles, but never slowing him as he chased shadows and light across the landscape of dead leaves and wet grass. His tongue lolled out of his mouth as he ran, much like a wolf's might, and he was almost dizzy with the burn of freedom in his veins. There were no thoughts, only impulses, and his guided him to go farther, faster. There was an itch in his feet, spurring him on. 

And then, just when the edge of the jungle was in sight, when he saw the break in the trees up ahead, he became aware of another presence. He skidded to a halt, paws slipping in wet leaves. 

Paws? 

His ears perked as he turned and scanned the surrounding jungle. His nostrils flared when he caught the scent of wet fur that was not his own. 

Eyes, a piercing, electric blue, snared his from the shadows. 

He growled as the creature suddenly leapt from its hiding place, and revealed itself as a panther, sleek and black and deadly. He held his ground as the panther's lips spread over glossy white teeth, a few at the back stained with old blood. He growled, dropping his head low, showing his own teeth. The panther would have quite a fight on its hand if it decided to challenge him. 

The panther, oddly, quirked its head to the side, jaw falling open so its pink tongue showed startlingly against its fur. He waited. Surely this panther would attack him soon. But it did not. The panther edged closer, and he backed away, circled the big cat until the fringe of the jungle was before his eyes, but the panther was guarding it. There was something like a warning in the panther's eyes, even though it lifted its head and bared its neck. 

An instinct kept him from leaping and tearing out the panther's throat, an instinct that warned him this fierce creature was not a threat to him. 

It just wanted him to... _stay_. 

* * *

There was something wet rasping against Blair's neck, pulling him from the dream, dragging him through the blue veils. It was wearing a rash right onto his skin. Blair flinched and slapped at it, surprised when the solid flesh he came into contact with was not his own. Blair's eyes shot open, and he stared at the ceiling coming into focus above his eyes while his hand investigated the skin beneath his palm. 

A cheek. With stubble. Presumably this cheek belonged to a male. Either that, or that dream he'd once had about marrying that bearded lady from a carnival he'd been to as a kid wasn't so much of a dream after all. But no, a large, very obviously male body was pressed against his side, curled around him like an anaconda, and that thing licking him was most certainly a tongue. 

Blair jerked his head back and came face to face with a very flushed, disreputable looking Jim Ellison. 

"O-kay." Blair licked his dry lips. "What the _hell_ is going on with you?" 

Jim blinked at him. Slowly. And then he cocked his head to the side in the way the panther had in Blair's dream. 

"Whoa," Blair said nervously. "Not exactly on Jeopardy here, and I'm really not up for guessing games. You've been acting seriously wacky since Mexico." 

Jim's hand moved, cupping Blair's throat. The action should have been threatening, but Jim's fingertips were gentle as they traced over the area wet with his saliva, and Blair's skin caught fire. 

"I'm busy," Jim muttered huskily, head dipping toward Blair's neck once more. "Ask me again later." 

Blair grabbed Jim by his ears, halting his progress. "Stop emulating the goddamn magic eight ball and give me some freaking answers!" 

Jim groaned and shook off the restraining fingers. "Come on, Sandburg. You taste good." His eyes were on fixated on Blair's neck like it had suddenly turned into a big juicy Wonder Burger. "Give me a break," he said, voice dropping away into a husky whisper. 

"And what?" Blair slapped a palm against Jim's chest. "Let you lick my skin off my bones?" Blair pushed at Jim, rolling away, landing on the floor with an audible crack. His knees were going to be smarting for the next few days. "No way, man. Back off." Jim sat up, reaching, and Blair slapped it away, scrambling backward. "J-just back off." 

Jim froze, kneeling on the couch. He looked down at his outstretched hands almost as if he was surprised to find them there, before dropping them to his side. He settled back on his heels, shoulders drooping as a red flush rose up across his abdomen, flooding toward his face. "I'm sor-" 

Blair waved his palms, killing Jim's apology before it could take on full guilt-to-the-eyeballs life. "Don't even, Jim. Just tell me what's going on with you." 

"And then what?" Jim demanded. 

"Well, I... I guess we'll figure something out. We could, uh-" 

Jim stuck a finger in the air, stopping him. "Fix it?" he suggested. Blair nodded. Jim chuckled mirthlessly, slipping his legs out from beneath him and stretching his arms casually over the back of the couch. The pose brought the breadth of Jim's chest to sharp attention, and Blair had to force his eyes to remain on Jim's face. "Maybe this isn't something you can fix, Chief. Maybe this is just something we're going to have to deal with, just like it is." 

Blair crossed his arms over his chest unyieldingly. "My point. What IS this?" 

Jim's eyebrows shot up. "You mean you don't know?" 

"Flying by the seat of my pants," Blair admitted ruefully. 

"Huh." Jim laughed again, but this time there was an edge of actual amusement to it. "And you've always claimed I was the repressed person in this partnership." 

Blair threw his hands up in the air. "I'm hitting the shower. When you feel like talking in a human language? Let me know." 

He didn't get very far before Jim's fingers shackled his wrist, and he was abruptly dragged back onto the couch by a force more irresistible than gravity. Blair grunted when he landed in Jim's lap and was promptly shoved onto his back. Jim hovered over him, larger than life, his shoulders hot and yellow with sunshine. 

"Okay," Blair said slowly. He tried to touch Jim's strained face, calm him, but Jim's hands came up to pin Blair's wrists to the sofa. "Right. This is new. Can we talk about this?" 

"Talk?" Jim pursed his lips, considering. "No. No, I don't think so. I think this kind of thing requires a little more show than tell." 

Blair's eyes widened. "More show than--" 

Jim's mouth. On his. Jim's _mouth_. And how was he supposed to argue with that? Jim's mouth was firm, hot over his, and Blair's first reaction wasn't to fight, but to groan from a spot so deep inside, his whole body shook. And Blair's heart, his stupid, gullible heart, picked up speed. Jim kissed him softly, not like he'd expected someone holding him down to kiss, but the contrast was dizzying. Jim kissed him like he meant it. 

After a long moment, Jim pulled back, gauging Blair's reaction. Blair licked his bottom lip, instinctively searching for Jim's taste, and a glint of something like primitive satisfaction flashed in Jim's eyes. It was that moment when Blair should have said something to bring them both back to their sanity, when Blair should have put a halt to everything, because their friendship was too important to mess up with sex. Jim pushed forward and kissed him again, harder this time, with his weight behind it, and Blair didn't say a word. 

There was something about being under Jim after all this time telling himself that he wasn't aching to be in this exact position; something about having his wrists pinned solidly against the cushions that appealed to him on the most unfathomable level. He strained in Jim's grip just to feel Jim tense and hold him harder, heard one of his mother's ex-boyfriends mutter a warning about playing with fire, and was licked heartily by the flame when Jim stuck his tongue out, trailing it along the seal of Blair's lips. 

Blair squeezed his eyes shut, breath crushed out of his lungs by the force of his want, and told himself no. He wouldn't do this. He wouldn't let them get caught up in a moment of need when the cost was their friendship. Blair told himself all of this, but felt his mouth opening up all the same. Hunger gnawed at its leash, tired of being chained. The heat between them increased several degrees all at once when Jim's tongue touched Blair's. 

Blair groaned, sucking on Jim's tongue while his body went lax everywhere. Well, almost everywhere. His dick, perfectly amenable to being the odd one out, was getting pretty interested in this unusual and highly improbable situation. As their kiss deepened and Jim began to breathe heavily, Blair's brain gave in to the inevitable and decided to call it quits. 

Higher brain function? What's that? 

Jim must have gotten that Blair's body was voting yes and that his brain had taken a leave of absence, because he cautiously released Blair's wrists. Gentling the kiss by degrees, Jim place his hands lightly on Blair's rib cage. Blair licked Jim's teeth and arched into the innocent caress, craving a firmer pressure that might prove this was real. Otherwise, this was one pretty vivid fantasy as far as he was concerned; it wasn't like it would be the first he'd had. 

Jim's fingers danced across Blair's side, teasingly light glimpses of what Blair wanted, before they jumped up to Blair's nipples, making quick, sneaky circles through Blair's shirt. Blair's breathing paused at the contact, but Jim had already returned to safer patches of muscle. Well, safe was maybe a strong word for that spot on Blair's side, that with just the right pressure made his toes curl. Jim dragged his mouth from Blair's, gulping in air. He rasped his cheek across Blair's, tongue darting out to lick the shell of Blair's ear. 

Blair shuddered and felt up Jim's back helplessly, groping for control. He envisioned himself pushing Jim onto his back, saw himself throwing his body across Jim's, onto Jim's, begging to fuck or be fucked, just _something_ already. The muscles bunched and shifted beneath Jim's skin, tightening when he lowered his body against Blair's, pressing their torsos together. Blair pushed Jim away a little, laughing at the surprised expression on his partner's face, before pulling the shirt off over his head, sending his hair into a frenzy of static electricity. 

If he was going to let this happen, then it was about time he became an active participant in the mauling. Not that being mauled himself wasn't great. It was just that when he'd let himself picture this happening, he'd done an awful lot of mauling of Jim, not the other way around, and that urge snagged his stomach, took control of his fingers. 

Blair smoothed his wild hair down while Jim shifted to straddle him, eyes focused on Blair's chest. Jim's hand skated Blair's stomach, fingers tangling in Blair's chest hair, stroking with serious intent. Blair snuck his own fingers beneath the waistband of Jim's boxers, testing the heated skin there, feeling how smooth and moldable it was. Jim shivered and hummed deliciously into Blair's mouth, pushing back into the touch as if requesting more, before his hips rolled forward to grind his pelvic bone into Blair's erection. Blair hissed, fingernails digging in. Jim arched, mouth falling open in wordless encouragement. 

Okay, they'd gone from buddies who played ASS on the basketball court, to buddies who played grab ass in the middle of the loft. Blair decided he could work with this change. He squeezed Jim's ass firmly, watching Jim's face tighten. Jim responded by thrusting his hips again, a challenge in his eyes, hitting Blair at the perfect angle. Yes, Blair could really, really work with this. 

Jim's eyes slid shut when Blair played a finger over the crack bisecting the smooth cheeks of his ass, and he fell forward onto Blair, a welcome weight that flooded heat across Blair's body. Blair pressed his fingers deeper into the crack, searching for Jim's opening, and Jim rolled his forehead against Blair's. His nose caressed Blair's cheekbone as his eyes opened, gazing into Blair's with the kind of need you heard about but never experienced. Blair frowned, unsettled, and retrieved his hand from Jim's boxers, soothing Jim with a caress up the curved expanse of sweaty muscles until he reached the back of Jim's neck. 

Jim sighed warm air across Blair's mouth, and forced his hand between them. He closed his fingers around the snap on Blair's jeans, and Blair stilled, waiting while Jim fumbled with the button. A painful noise escaped his gritted teeth when Jim's knuckles brushed over the underside of his cock, taking his sweet time releasing Blair's cock from its prison. Sadistic bastard. 

Blair bit his bottom lip, holding back a curse as Jim carefully tugged the zipper down, palming Blair's stomach with his other hand, one finger sliding in and out of his navel while anticipation tightened his hips. And then, all at once, that teasing hand swept toward the elastic waistband of Blair's boxers, and Blair almost knocked both of them to the floor. Would have, probably, if Jim hadn't chosen that moment to shift on top of him. He flattened Blair against the couch and pressed his cheek against Blair's chest, ear just above his heart. 

Listening, soothing, holding him _down._

Jim's breath bled across his skin, over his nipples, and every hair on Blair's body stood at attention. Dazed, brain under-committed, Blair could do nothing but swallow convulsively. Jim slipped his hand inside Blair's boxers, and he cried out when Jim's fingers wrapped tentatively around his erection, grasping the swollen flesh. Oh, shit, this was the kind of sweet torture his mother had never warned him about. It was going to wreak havoc with his karma, because there was no way he could reach down and return the favor. 

It was almost too rough, the way Jim fondled him once he started thrusting up into it. Jim's thumb had a callus on it, a scarred ridge of flesh that rubbed over the side of Blair's erection whenever he moved his hand. Blair bucked violently into the circle made by Jim's fist, a grimace of ecstasy twisting his face, twisting his heart. 

Jim bent and his tongue touched Blair's nipple, leaving the skin slightly damp. Blair's back lifted off the couch as Jim's teeth closed around the puckered flesh. He whimpered in a particularly unmanly fashion, startled when an evil chuckle sounded from Jim's chest. 

"Oh, shit," Blair managed to mumble, tilting his chin so that he could meet Jim's eyes. "Since when have you had an evil villain laugh?" 

"Since I figured out what flips your switch," Jim said and squeezed Blair's cock on the up stroke, adding a little twist. It's all in the wrist, Blair thought giddily as his hips jerked, lifting off the couch, seeking the full attention of the hand working him. "Hear my evil villain laugh and be afraid." 

"I'm afraid," Blair gasped, and Jim swabbed his tongue across the center of his chest. "Trust me, I've got that fearful feeling." 

Jim's grinned up at him with shiny white teeth, like something dangerous, something you shouldn't mess with, and then scraped those deadly teeth down Blair's stomach. And really, there wasn't anything left to laugh at unless you counted the improbability that was opening his eyes and seeing Jim Ellison, straight cop of the year, with his red face pressed flush against Blair's belly. Jim's tongue snaked out, swirling around Blair's navel, before plunging in and out much like his finger had earlier. Blair couldn't find anything in him that wanted to laugh at that, and cupped his hands over the back of Jim's head instead, shivering when the tongue traced his hipbone and a hand slipped beneath his ass, urging him to lift his hips. 

Blair obediently raised up, clenching his jaw when Jim tugged off his boxers, fingertips trailing across his ass. The waistband caught on the head of his cock, and Jim made a hushing noise at Blair's startled cry, carefully untangling his erection from the fabric. When Jim had pushed both Blair's boxers and pants to his knees, he slid himself with them, curling into what must have been a very uncomfortable position at the end of the couch. The look on Jim's face said otherwise, lips parted, eyes glittering, a muscle in his jaw flinching. And his hands, as they settled on Blair's naked hips, trembled finely like plucked piano strings. 

Blair's head came off the couch at the feel of Jim's chin against his cock, his jaw coming unhinged. The scrape of stubble was too much sensation in the wrong place, and he couldn't get his voice too work, but Jim shifted anyway, and his tongue was there instead. One strong lick. It didn't change the results, though; he'd been reminded that this wasn't a nameless woman who wouldn't be around for long. 

This was Jim, his Sentinel, his roommate, his best friend, and that wasn't something he could walk away from. Blair might have said something like 'Are you sure, Jim? Because this could really fuck us up.' But Jim took a deep breath through his nose, like he was working up to something, and he opened his mouth, taking the very tip of Blair's cock into his mouth. The only thing that came out of Blair was a loud, choked sound. 

Screw karma. Enlightenment was highly overrated. 

Blair's eyes rolled up into his head, his fingers scrabbled at the couch cushions, and Jim applied suction, taking more of Blair into his mouth. His hips humped Jim's face helplessly, curling toward his open mouth, begging Jim to take him deeper, to stop the burning. It was time to put out the fucking _fire_ , already. 

Jim didn't keep him waiting long, suddenly dropping his mouth down Blair's dick like it was nothing to take all of that in, one hand gripping the base of his cock to hold him steady. Except it wasn't nothing, and Jim made this little gagging sound that would have worried Blair if he wasn't so far gone already. 

"F-f-uck!" Blair shouted, and thrust up hard. He hoped, in a fleeting way, that he didn't end up choking his best friend with his dick. That'd certainly be hard to explain to even the most open minded physician. 

Jim recovered quickly enough, stopped making gagging noises, and slithered his tongue against Blair's cock experimentally. Blair spared a thought for his Sentinel sense of taste, but couldn't bring himself to do anything but greedily cup the back of Jim's head. Jim's eyes turned up at the touch of Blair's hand, and his cheeks were hollowed from sucking, lips red where they had rubbed Blair's erection. 

And Jesus, but it was too much. He made like a volcano, and there were sparks of red and yellow light behind Blair's eyelids as he came. Shouted. Cracked down the center. For an infinite moment, he wondered if he was having a seizure, because his body had never shaken like this; but Jim still suckled him, a little awkwardly as come pulsated out of him. And that couldn't taste very good, but it felt great, and seizures didn't feel good at all. Jim dragged the pleasure out longer than it should have been able to go, until it licked painfully at him. There was no doubt about this being an orgasm. Blair wouldn't be surprised if he lit up half of Cascade by the power of this orgasm alone. 

Blair realized his fingers were digging into Jim's scalp, that Jim's eyes were trained on his face as he swallowed what he could, and Blair carefully, purposely, gentled his grip to a caress. Jim's eyes fluttered shut, a gust of air escaping from his nostrils to burn Blair's skin, and he let Blair's cock slip from between his lips. 

On one level, the image was obscene as hell, but when Jim pressed his cheek into Blair's caressing hand, it became about something else. Something that had nothing to do with what Jim had just, out of the blue, done with him. A need was communicated between them, rich with the scent of sex and the slow grind of Jim's erect cock on Blair's shin. Strange, how it could seem so... sweet. 

"Blair," Jim moaned, rubbing his face against the hollow of Blair's hip. 

"What do you want?" Blair asked, voice rusty. 

Jim's eyes opened, meeting Blair's with intense heat. He didn't answer. Not with words anyway; he climbed up Blair's body. Blair reached for the snap of Jim's jeans, but his hand was pushed away when Jim took the task over himself, unsnapping and unzipping more carelessly than Blair would have, and pulled out his blood-red erection, giving it a few rough strokes while Blair watched and waited. 

And then, with a visible effort of will, Jim stilled his hand. He just palmed his cock for a moment, staring at Blair. Eventually, after Blair had tried to put his own hand on Jim's cock a couple times and had his fingers gripped gently, but firmly pushed away, Blair raised his eyes to meet Jim's. 

"What's wrong?" 

"I want to come on you," Jim said, his voice hoarse. "Can I do that?" 

Blair said, simply, "Yes." 

Maybe it was a Sentinel thing, a need to assert his territory, or maybe not, but either way, Jim leaned back over him, one hand propping himself up, the other jerking his cock. Jim stroked himself hard, ungently, as if he hurt inside and this dulled the pain. A vein stood out in Jim's throat, throbbing, and he looked almost angry, struggling with himself. 

"I've wanted you," Jim growled, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Beneath me. Like this." 

Blair was strangely separated from the action going on above him, like it wasn't even happening, and not even Jim's harshly erotic words could touch him. It was a horrible ache in his heart, and he knew he needed something more than Jim grunting above him to make any of this a reality. His palm smoothed over Jim's chest, toward the glistening cock Jim tortured with his hand. He needed to be a part of that, couldn't just be the thought Jim jerked off to, not anymore. So, carefully, he placed his hand over his Jim's, following his urgent motions. Blair grounded himself by grabbing onto Jim's shoulder, and reached up to kiss him hard on the mouth. 

The second their lips touched, Jim jerked, and Blair lost his grip on Jim's hand, but it didn't matter, because Jim's body twisted and then pulled taut. His shoulders went rigid, his lips hardened and pulled back into a grimace, and then he spurted all over Blair's belly. 

Jim sighed into his mouth, like all the angry lust had left his body weak, and collapsed on top of Blair with a gasp of a sound. And somehow, that made it real. 

* * *

Feeling boneless was actually a pretty creepy sensation when it came right down to it. Blair lay limply against the couch. There was something about having his best friend sucking his brains out through his cock, and then watching Jim's brain flow in a similar direction, that had pretty much taken away Blair's ability to move. At all. Or, perhaps, it was the big body crushing him into the cushions that was hindering his motor functions. 

Blair slapped his palm against Jim's back. "Jim." Jim groaned, turning his face into Blair's hair. Blair gasped a little, and not in a sexy way, slapping Jim's shoulder significantly harder. "Jim, man. I'm trapped. Give me a little breathing space here." 

Blair thought Jim hadn't comprehended him this time either, but Jim suddenly levered himself up, arms taut, holding himself above Blair's body. Blair felt twitchy under Jim's intense concentration, and he rolled his head away, swallowing the thick lump of alarm that had begun fattening up underneath his tongue, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to jump him with a panic attack of gigantic proportions. 

Jim lowered his head, breath fogging Blair's ear. "Breathing space, Chief?" 

"Air circulating in the lungs can only be a good thing." 

"Sure. If you're not Blair 'Commitment? What's that?' Sandburg." 

Blair's eyes jerked back to Jim, hurt glowing hot in his chest. "Ouch. Low blow." 

"Casualties of war, Chief." Jim smiled at him, quick and mischievous, before levering himself up further, and pushing off the sofa. And it seemed that it hadn't been Jim's big body on top of him that had been keeping Blair from moving, because he was free now, and he still couldn't seem to make any part of his body other than his brain respond. Was there actually any chance that he'd somehow destroyed part of his cerebral cortex by way of orgasm? 

Blair watched Jim stride across the loft and push open the bathroom door. He didn't turn on the lights as he noisily pulled open a drawer, rummaging around. Blair shifted when he heard the sound of water running. Jim came back out carrying a wet hand towel in his hand. 

He knew this part of the story, and snatched the towel away from Jim when he bent down to apply it to Blair's stomach. "Thanks, man. Got it covered." 

Jim straightened and shrugged. "Okay." 

Which was all fine and good, except Jim was watching while Blair cleaned himself up, and there was something vaguely erotic about wrapping his cloth covered fingers around his soft dick while Jim's eyes followed every move. Blair's eyes flitted away from Jim's face, and he mechanically finished mopping himself. He tugged up his boxers, and after a moment's consideration, kicked off his jeans. 

"Do you need...?" Blair gestured pointedly at Jim's own soft cock as he sat up on the sofa, pushing his hair out of his face with his other hand. 

Jim looked down at himself, and then back at Blair, raising an eyebrow. "Already took care of it. You done?" 

"Done. So many connotations to that word. What does 'done' really mean anyway?" 

"Sandburg," Jim said shortly. "Are you done cleaning our come off your body?" 

Blair smiled weakly in response. "Generally, yes, I've reached all those hard to reach places." 

"Good." Jim nodded. "Then, let's go," he said as he reached down and latched on to one of Blair's wrists, tugging him up off the couch as if he was a rag doll. And sure, Blair felt pretty limp, but Jim didn't have to rub it in. When he realized Jim was reeling him toward the stairs that led up to Jim's bedroom, Blair hesitated, dragging his feet. 

It shouldn't be this easy. Should it? 

Jim stopped on the bottom step when Blair refused to go further. He canted his head questioningly. "Don't want to?" he asked softly, confused. 

"A little late for that," Blair muttered, turning his eyes away. Even the stairs in the loft were clean. There was something wrong about stairs being so spotless. Who thought to clean stairs? Sentinels, obviously. 

Jim released him, leaving the skin cool where his fingers had been. "So now I've damaged your virtue. What else should I apologize for today, huh? And you know, you seemed to be pretty happy about my mouth on your cock." 

Blair's throat constricted, and he had to force words out, because Jim was right. "Who's not happy about a mouth on their cock?" 

"So it was just a general, universal pleasure that had you humping my face?" 

Blair felt heat rise to his cheeks, and shifted on his feet, uneasily aware of their proximity. Standing next to a naked Jim shouldn't be able to make him blush when being jerked off on by a naked Jim hadn't. But it was different now, because it was _after_ , and his head was cool, and naked Jim was a big deal. In every way. 

"There was no humping," Blair said harshly, and then wiped a hand across his face. "Okay, so there might have been a little humping. But your mouth on my cock. It was like, you know how you get a kick off coffee if you drink too much of it? Kinda like that. So." He slapped his hands together, concluding the explanation. "Humping." 

"Sandburg, Jesus." Jim looked harassed. As harassed as a big, shiny, naked man could after having mind blowing sex. "Are you always this stubborn and resistant to sex?" 

"Not usually, no," Blair admitted. "I'm pretty easy." 

"So it's just sex with me that makes you act like a thirteen year old girl?" 

Blair gaped. "Excuse me?" 

Jim continued heedlessly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because, to be honest, I'm pretty happy with how things were going on that couch. A guy gets an epiphany, he wants to put it to use, but no, you've got to be all problematic and... goobery about it." 

"Goobery?" Blair seriously considered looking for a dictionary. "You made that word up." 

"No." Jim moved his hands to his hips, somehow managing to be imposing in a way no guy could with his soft cock hanging in the breeze. "It's slang." 

Blair poked Jim's chest. "Made. Up." 

" _Blair_ ," Jim said forcefully, and that was enough to make Blair still like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming driver. Jim rarely used his name. And when he did, it meant either the world was seriously close to ending, or he'd caught Blair drinking milk out of the carton again. Jim reached out and stroked the pad of his thumb across Blair's bottom lip. "You're not listening to me." He sounded aggrieved. "I've finally got it figured out. And I'm not about to let you screw this up." 

Blair didn't know what to say. Jim's thumb stopped moving, just barely touching Blair's mouth. "So, don't screw it up, huh?" 

Blair's Adam's apple bobbed. "This makes no sense to me. In case you haven't noticed, I'm a guy." 

Jim rolled his eyes. "As pointed out earlier, I had my mouth on your cock." 

"A _guy_ ," Blair repeated, unable to move beyond that point. Wasn't Jim the really straight man Blair had been living with for the past three years? So straight that even his hair didn't dare curl. 

"Who's virtue is apparently tarnished," Jim retorted smartly. 

"Screw my virtue," Blair said desperately, waving his hands. "What the fuck is up with yours?" 

Jim frowned thoughtfully, before he slowly took a seat on the bottom step, stretching out his long legs. And if Blair couldn't help but appreciate the view, because a naked Jim was a spectacular Jim, then he wouldn't count himself too weak, just human. 

"I suppose you're not going to let me go to sleep before we hash this out," Jim said morosely, staring at his toes. Blair stared too, mesmerized as Jim wiggled them, before forcing himself to focus on the issue at hand. 

Blair shook his head. "You should have slept when you had the chance, Big Guy. There's no hope now." 

"Even if I promise not to drag you up there with me?" Jim asked hopefully, if completely full of shit. 

Blair struggled not to respond to the speculative gleam in Jim's eyes. "Explain what's going on with you. And I don't want the enlightened Jim explaining this to me. I want my Jim back. Be gruff. And terse. But tell me." 

"You really want to know?" 

"No, Jim," Blair said slowly. "This is all just for show so that I can launch myself at you at an opportune moment and damage a little of _your_ virtue." 

Jim stroked a finger across his chin. "Works for me." 

"Jim," Blair snapped. 

"Okay, okay." Jim dangled his hands between his knees. "So, I'm thinking I have this all figured out. Alex. You. Me. The vision." 

Blair fidgeted impatiently. "Care to share your theory with the class?" 

"Shut up, Sandburg." 

"There's my Jim!" 

"This isn't a fucking joke!" Jim shouted, filling the loft with his voice, and probably frightening a few neighbors while he was at it. 

It wasn't the yell, but the look on Jim's face that pulled Blair up short. Jim wasn't laughing about this. Jim was sure about this, and he was miserable about this, but the one thing he wasn't doing about this was laughing. So it must be bad. "Y-you're right, Jim. I'm sorry. Go ahead." 

"I was feeling threatened, all right?" Jim said uneasily, gray around the mouth. 

"This we know," Blair couldn't help but saying. 

"Yes, this we know, Chief, but you don't know it quite like I know it. I was threatened by her presence, but not just because she was in my city." 

"Then why?" Blair asked. 

"This is the epiphany part," Jim delayed, uneasier by the minute. Jim, man of stillness, was fidgeting on that step, and Blair couldn't help but understand why Jim cleaned the stairs after all. It wouldn't do to have one's naked ass wriggling around on the bottom step and get all dirty with whatever kind of dirt stairs gathered. 

"I'm getting that." 

"She had you, Chief." Jim smiled sadly. Not at all a Jim smile. There was way too much wistfulness in it. He stopped moving around, staring darkly down at his dangling fingers. "And I didn't. Hadn't, not for a while." 

Blair shook his head in confusion. "She didn't have me, man. I didn't touch her. And before this, we've never. Uh, you and me. There was no having." Giving up, Blair threw his hands in the air and sat heavily next to Jim. He unconsciously mirrored Jim's position. "I don't see how it could have threatened you, especially since you didn't even know I'd been studying her." 

"I didn't know, but I _felt_ it." Jim slid Blair a sideways glance, tugging self-consciously on his earlobe. "You know how you recognize your lover is cheating on you instinctively?" When Blair nodded, Jim shrugged. "Like that." 

Blair stared at Jim for a moment, at the curve where his shoulder became his neck, at the stubble on cheeks, stretched taut. "Okay," he said in a measured tone, and let his shoulder brush against Jim's to show he was softening. "Maybe I can see that. What does this have to do with your sudden urge to become one with me?" 

"Who mentioned any oneness?" When Blair raised his eyebrows challengingly, Jim smiled widely, admitting, "Okay, so oneness appeals to me." 

"And your evasive maneuvers appeal to me on a scientific level, but I'm more interested in having an answer to my question." 

Jim put his face in his hands, a tormented groan escaping his throat, sounding like it hurt. "I hate ripping myself open like this." 

Blair patted his thigh unthinkingly, surprised when the contact made his hand throb, made him lust right in his fingertips. "You'll live," he consoled Jim huskily, flexing his palm around the lightly furred skin. 

Jim stared down at the hand on his thigh, and he took a shaky breath. Blair's fingers tightened, clutched tellingly, before he purposely pulled his hand away, back into his own lap. 

"Chief." Jim hesitated again, thumb rubbing over the stretch of skin where Blair's fingers had been. "Blair. It's not new. Exactly." 

"The desire to become one?" Blair guessed. 

"Right," Jim said, nodding. 

"It's not new?" 

"Exactly." 

"So there has long been a desire for oneness?" 

Jim glared at him, lips pinched. "Can we get over the oneness? It's getting old." 

Blair patted Jim's shoulder, letting his fingers linger. How could anyone's skin be so hot all the time? "Sure," Blair replied, voice cracking. "No more oneness." 

"I wouldn't say long," Jim contradicted. "Exactly." 

"There's that word again," Blair observed. "Exactly." 

"Well, you try opening up like this, Chief. Feel free to give it a shot. I mean, if you think you can do better, go ahead." 

"I'd rip myself open, but I'm mostly confused. And there would just be a lot of confusion." 

Jim sighed in irritation, and then turned to Blair on the step, so that his knee pressed intimately against Blair's thigh. "Okay, listen up," he warned. "Because I'm not saying any of this again. This isn't how I do things, but you're obviously not going to be satisfied until I open my skull up and let you take a look around." 

Blair blinked, surprised by Jim's gruff speech. 

Jim turned his head away and stared hard at the boxes stacked on the kitchen island. "I've always kind of wanted you, but it's not like I've been carrying a torch for you all these years." The last was said defensively, hoarser than the rest, and Blair couldn't help but wonder if maybe Jim _had_ been carrying around some kind of torch. Because looking back, there were things that had always been a little more than buddy-buddy. 

"Just every now and then I'd think about how you had sex, and it was kind of weird," Jim flinched from his own words, as if he didn't like hearing them come out of his mouth. "And then I started wondering what it would be like to have you coaching me through sex, not the moves or anything, but just keeping my senses under control, so I could see if the Sentinel crap applied in _every_ area of my life." 

'Very weird,' Blair thought, but kept his opinion to himself, as he couldn't cast stones in the fantasy department. 

"After a while, it was you I was having sex with when I thought about it. But by the time I wanted into your pants, you'd already become... important to me, and I was just screwed." 

Blair said nothing, shell shocked. Jim couldn't be saying what Blair thought he was saying. The apartment was still pretty empty from when Jim had gotten rid of most the furniture, and that was proof if anything was, that Jim definitely couldn't be. In love. With him. But Jim looked so. Good. And Blair's stomach was clenching, so maybe he was projecting his own feelings onto Jim. Maybe Jim wasn't the one in love at all. Maybe Blair was just taking the plunge after a whole lot of loitering on the diving board, terrified of how fucking _high_ he was. 

"So I pushed it down," Jim continued, voice growing softer, gaining a far away quality, and his eyes tightened at the corners. "Forgot about it, mostly. But it's not so easy anymore. After all this crap, the dying, and the rest, I think I've gotten it through my head that nothing with you is easy, so why should this be any different?" 

"But," Blair struggled to find the words, but he couldn't come up with anything new. "Guy. Remember. GUY." 

"Which really doesn't seem to be a problem." Jim gestured ruefully at his cock, which although still soft, showed definite signs of perking up soon. Sooner, when Blair followed the motion of Jim's hand and stared. "Obviously. Not bad for a man in his forties, huh?" 

"But," Blair said again, tongue waxy and wet against the roof of his mouth. "You and Alex. You and she--" He made a fist and punched the air lightly. "You, uh--" Blair made another motion, more explicit. "You _really_ liked Alex." 

"Don't tell me you're going to hold that against me," Jim complained tiredly. 

"No, but--" Blair's head fell back on his neck. The ceiling was far away and untouchable above him. He wondered what it was like for a man with Jim's height and presence. Did it seem closer, more reachable? "I don't know." 

"I know she... killed you, Chief. Jesus, I know it. And I hated not being able to control myself with her." And there _was_ hate in his voice, threads of it tangled in a web of latent longing that chafed Blair's heart. "That's not me," Jim said hotly. "That was a need to fuck. To spread my, uh, seed." 

"Your seed?" Blair pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead, trying to will the mental image of Jim hammering into Alex out of his head. There went the idea of getting into Jim's mouth again tonight. No way that was possible now. That image would surely pop up again and make this distinctly awkward. "Your _seed_?" 

"And she's a Sentinel. A part of me, not a part I'm proud of, wanted her to carry it." 

"That is so sexist," Blair complained, but his heart wasn't it. "Can you stop talking now? I really think I like you better when you're a man of few words." 

His _seed_? 

"Deeply sexist." Jim stretched out his legs and didn't seem too concerned by his own politically incorrectness. "I'll apologize to every woman I meet for the rest of my life." Jim got to his feet, offering his hand, and Blair saw that Jim's blunt nails were dirty. That was comforting, somehow. "So, are you coming?" 

Blair stared at the hand. "Jim. So you understand, I don't know how I feel about this. Exactly." 

Jim didn't retract the hand, but shifted his hip, changing how the light rested on his body. The shadows on his stomach were deep, his muscles cut like puzzle pieces. "That's okay," he said. "Blair, c'mon." 

"We've just gone through a lot of shit. What I'm feeling, what you're feeling, it could all be because we're both kind of fucked up right now." 

"I know how I feel. I know how you feel." Jim wiggled his fingers impatiently, drawing Blair in with the stunning need on his face. You could drown in a person that wanted like that, and having drowned himself, that was incredibly terrifying. "That's enough for me right now, Blair. I don't need you to know how you feel." 

"That's actually incredibly selfish of you." Blair murmured. 

"Hey. Sentinel here. I'm your holy grail. You should expect a little self involvement." 

If he got up right then and walked away, would Jim stop him? Probably. But, oh, who was he kidding? He wasn't going anywhere. And not because Jim would probably cuff him to the stairs and bitch at him about following orders, or some shit, but because he couldn't deny he wanted to see this thing through, to follow wherever it was going. And it was Jim. He couldn't walk away from Jim. 

"I regret saying that so much right now," Blair said distractedly, eyes on Jim's mouth, which was still red. "Your ego is, like, gigantic. Ballpark huge." 

"Swollen?" Jim suggested, with an actual, honest to God, leer. 

"I'm not equating this with sex." 

"Turgid?" 

"That doesn't even work," Blair growled. 

Jim's fingers curled into his palm, and then out again. It was clear he was giving Blair one final chance before he hauled him up into a fireman's carry. "C'mon, Chief. Just give in. I'm too tired to seduce you again." 

"Well, when you put it like that." Blair placed his hand in Jim's, quickly, before his anxiety could talk him out of it. Jim pulled him to his feet and gave him a brief, hard kiss on the mouth, before starting up the steps. Blair followed. "Jim." 

"Oh God, not more talking," Jim groaned. 

"Shut up. We haven't exactly fixed anything you know." 

Jim let go of Blair's hand at the top of the stairs and went over to the bed to turn down the covers. His body really was a holy grail, Blair thought, watching the muscles stretch and bunch beneath Jim's skin as he prepared the bed. Blair looked around, fighting a sense of vertigo as he realized how far off the ground Jim's bedroom was, and told himself that it was okay he was here. After all, Jim had invited him. 

Invited? Demanded, more like. Blair was strangely okay with that. 

After he'd fixed the bed, Jim straightened and met Blair's gaze, skin taking on a golden hue in the rays of the sun. Blair stood there with his hands clutching at air, his heart pumping too quickly, getting high off his own blood, and wondered what he'd gotten himself into, feeling like this for Jim, when only a week ago, the guy had kicked him out. 

"This is so crazy," Blair muttered. "This is going to be hard." 

"I don't doubt it, Chief. You've got commitment issues. I've got first time with a guy anxiety. But I know that I want you. I know that it's been buzzing in the back of my brain like white noise since the day I met you, and I'm probably fucking in love with you, so will you just shut up and cuddle with me already?" 

Blair's mouth fell open as Jim crawled beneath the covers and raised them in invitation. His tongue went numb and he gulped, before clumsily pushing his boxers down his legs. Jim was naked, waiting beneath the covers like some big porn star, with a hell of a lot more class, so Blair could do naked. It was eminently doable. 

"Sometime today, maybe?" Jim suggested. 

Blair shut off his brain, on purpose this time, and climbed onto the mattress, sliding under the raised blanket with his back to Jim, and sighing when Jim's arm closed low and tight around his stomach. He could worry about how they were going to make this work later, when Jim wasn't so close and didn't feel so good. It should have been awkward, but it wasn't. They'd spent a lot of nights sleeping next to each other, out in the woods, on nights when the heat was broken in the loft, and they knew where to put their elbows and knees. Of course, they'd never slept together naked, but generally, it wasn't that much different. 

He was surrounded by Jim, by his scent, by his body, by his words, and Blair's clenching stomach muscles unrolled. For the first time since the fountain, he didn't taste water in the back of his throat. It was all familiar, and it was all really okay with him. 

He wanted to stay, Blair realized, only half aware he was even thinking. He badly wanted to stay, right here, and not move, because things were still complicated, and they'd get worse before they got better, but it felt so right to just let Jim cuddle with him. 

Jim's nose touched the back of Blair's neck, his toes against Blair's calves. 

"You need to trim your toe nails," Blair said drowsily. 

Jim's arms tightened around him. "Go to sleep, Sandburg." 

"You'll need a chainsaw." 

"They're not that bad." 

"No. They're not. But it's kind of quirky that you have funky feet. It's not like you." 

"My feet are not funky," Jim growled. "Now go. To sleep." 

Blair was silent for a while, counting the seconds he held himself back, but then he couldn't help it anymore. "You know what you said on the stairs, Jim?" 

A big sigh. "Yeah?" 

"That was almost romantic." 

"Yeah," Jim said, tangling one hand in Blair's curls. 

"I mean, I know it wasn't like a really difficult decision. Me or the looney bin with Alex, but I'm glad I rated higher than the procreation of the species." 

Jim laughed into the back of Blair's neck, and poked him with one of those long toenails. "You are so easy, Chief." 

"What can I say?" Blair shut his eyes. "I've got issues." 

* * *

End Backwash by Wistful: vjoyfever@yahoo.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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